


Burnished Copper

by Qais



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, Lots of Smiling, M/M, Magpies, cliche metaphors, i want them to be cute and soft, save the harshness for the business darlings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 01:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qais/pseuds/Qais
Summary: The cufflinks are the beginning, and the watch is the end- or perhaps a beginning of a different kind.Or: Eames collects piece of people, and those people sometimes notice.





	Burnished Copper

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Magpies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/373177) by [theskywasblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue). 



Arthur almost doesn’t notice it right away. He’s in Eames’ flat, with Ariadne and Cobb sitting at the kitchen island and Yusuf promising he’s 'almost there, this fucking weather Eames why'. And the thing is, Eames’ living space (not a rental, not a safe house, but his home) is as eclectic and colorful as his wardrobe, and it almost manages to hide it. Almost but not quite.

The first thing that Arthur notices isn’t even his, it’s Cobb’s, of all people. An unassuming pair of cufflinks, resting quietly on one of the bookshelves. The burnished copper of the cufflinks matches the wood finish of the shelves and Arthur’s eye glide over them twice before finding them at the base of the copy of Frankenstein he’d zeroed in on. It isn’t enough to raise any alarms, it’s not even surprising (Arthur probably has more of Cobb’s ties than Cobb does, at this point), considering how surprisingly sloppy Cobb can be with his belongings during jobs. 

The thing that stops him short isn’t the cufflinks, it’s the folded piece of paper in the copy of Frankenstein. He almost assumes it’s a makeshift bookmark until he realizes it’s a note that Arthur himself had written on the Fischer job. It’s nothing special, just a hastily written 'gone to eat with Ariadne, should be back by 5', but it’s in oddly pristine condition. Before he can investigate further, Yusuf is rushing in through the front door, doing his best impersonation of a drowned rat. With a soft hum Arthur slides the book back onto the shelf, the cufflinks and the note remaining untouched. 

He forgets about it until the next morning, when he’s waking up on the living room floor, bracketed on either side by Eames and Cobb (Eames having insisted that Ariadne taking the bed in his room and Yusuf unbelievably following her in). He glances outside at the rapidly brightening sky and eases himself up off the floor and into the washroom. He’s grabbing his toothbrush and halfway through his routine when he realizes that he didn’t actually take his toothbrush out of his bag, but this is undoubtedly his. With a bemused twist of his mouth Arthur looks at the cup holder by the sink and realizes that they all have toothbrushes in it, as well as a couple that he doesn’t recognize. 

His unease is compounded when he steps out of the washroom and finds himself staring at the sideboard by the door and seeing the watch he’d been sure he’d lost on the Charmaine job back in December. Softly padding over, he picks up the watch and confirms (rather unnecessarily, he’d known it was his right away) that it is actually the same watch.

“Oh yes, do take that back with you darling, it’s been resting there for a while now.” Eames’ tone is light and absolutely nonchalant, as if Arthur isn’t gripping the watch tight enough to leave imprints in his skin.

“Eames.” His voice is even and quiet, but Eames knows him well enough by now to cut a sharp glance at Arthur’s tone and quickly make his way to his side. “Why are you collecting our things.” And Arthur isn’t actually angry, he’s just- confused. He sees no logical positive explanation for this, and though he doesn’t actually have a sordid explanation for it either, it sets his teeth on edge. 

That being said, he is wholly unprepared for the blush that lights it’s way up Eames’ neck and across his face, a gorgeous dusting of pink that Arthur had never seen on Eames before. 

“What-”

“It’s a magpie thing.” And Arthur finds himself speechless yet again, because honestly, what the hell. 

“You… collect shiny things… like a magpie?” And Eames is turning impossibly more red and Arthur is still so confused until his eyes fall to a tattoo on Eames’s clavicle. Partially visible because of his deep necked shirt, it’s something Arthur recognizes. Eames opens his mouth again but shuts it with a click when Arthur rests his finger on the clavicle, a barely there brush of fingers. “This is your mother’s ring,” and Eames’ eyes widen. It had taken Arthur almost 2 months to collect a complete file on Eames, where it usually took him a week, but it had been obscenely comprehensive. 

“Yes it- she lost it, only piece of jewellery she wore, and I couldn’t very well filch her wedding ring,” Eames’ voice is hoarse and Arthur finally looks him in the eye, holding in the urge to step back when he sees the flushed cheeks and the dilated pupils staring at him.

“Mr. Eames, I’m flattered,” and Arthur hears the purr in his voice after he registers Eames’ mouth opening minutely. “How many pieces of me do you have stashed away in your nest?” And Arthur can’t hold in his laughter when Eames’ blush flares again and he flops his head back to stare at the ceiling, looking as if he is praying for escape. 

At the sound Eames’ chin comes down so fast Arthur worries for his neck, but then Eames’ hands are bracketing his face and his thumbs are dipping into Arthur’s dimples and he still can’t stop laughing. “Oh darling, this place is full of you,” Eames’ voice is hushed and reverent and Arthur knows they aren’t really talking about the flat anymore. He can’t stop grinning and Eames’ answering smile is so much softer and smaller than his usual, but it crinkles his eyes and there’s still a soft pink dust across his cheek. 

With his grin still in his place Arthur leans in, stopping just shy of Eames’ lips. When he can feel the barest brush of lips he stops and waits, for permission or approval or- and Eames leans in the rest of the way. His arms rest on Arthur’s hips, tightening at his back and dragging him into Eames as their mouths slot together. They break apart for breath, foreheads propper against each other and still smiling. 

“Darling,” and Eames is almost whispering, his arms tightening even more.

And Arthur laughs softly, wrapping his own arms around Eames, and resting his cheek against his shoulder. “You’re too charming for your own good Eames, magpies aren’t usually this compelling.”

The huff of laughter is soft, but it warms him, and Arthur’s hands are gripping handfuls of Eames’ t-shirt so tight, with his smile so wide that his cheeks have begun to ache.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I found myself so inexplicably charmed by this idea that I couldn't not write it. Many thanks to theskywasblue for the inspiration, check out her work for a longer and more well-written version of this.


End file.
